So You Want to Be a Wizard, New Millennium Edition (6 page)

“Those guys who came across you when you had this up,” she said, “what did they think?”

“They didn’t understand what was happening.” Kit laughed at the memory. “Not only couldn’t they get at me, they thought it was their idea to stop and yell at me from a distance. They even thought they were missing me with the airguns on purpose, too, to scare me.” His grin grew nearly big enough to match Nita’s. “It’s true, what the book said: some people couldn’t see a magic if it bit them.” He glanced around the finished circle. “The manual says there are other spells like this that don’t need drawings after you do them the first time, and when you need them, they’re there really fast—like if someone’s about to try beating you up. People just kind of skid away from you.”

“That sounds so great,” Nita said, with relish. Thoughts of what else she might be able to do to Joanne flickered through her head, but she pushed them aside for the moment. “What next?”

“Next,” Kit said, going to the middle of, the circle and sitting down carefully so as not to smudge any of the marks he’d made, “we read it. Or I read most of it, and you read your name. Though first you have to check my figuring.”

“How come?” Nita joined him, avoiding the lines and angles.

“Two-person spell—both people always check each other’s work. But you check your name again after I do.”

Kit was already squinting at Nita’s squiggles, so she pulled out her book again. and began looking at the symbols Kit had drawn in the dirt. There were clearly two sides to the diagram, and the book said they both had to balance like a chemical equation. Most of the symbols had numerical values attached, for ease in balancing, and Nita started doing addition in her head, making sure both sides matched. Eventually she was satisfied. She looked again at her name, seeing nothing wrong. “Is it okay?”

“Yeah.” Kit leaned back a little. “You have to be careful with names, it says. They’re a way of saying what you
are—
and if you write something in a spell that’s
not
what you are, well…”

“You, mean…
you
change … because the spell says you’re something else than what you are? You
become
that?”

Kit shrugged, but he looked uneasy. “A spell is saying that you want something to happen,” he said. “If you say your name wrong—”

Nita shuddered. “Wow, okay. And now?”

“Now we start. You do your name when I come to it. Then, the goal part down there—since it’s a joint goal, we say it together. Think you can do it okay if I go slow?”

“Yeah.”

Kit took a deep breath with his eyes closed, then opened his eyes and began to read.

Nita had never heard a voice speaking a spell aloud before, and the effect was strange. Ever so slightly, ever so slowly, things began to change around her. The tree-sheltered quiet grew quieter. The cool light that filtered through the canopy of branches grew expectant, fringed with secrecy the way things seen through the edge of a lens are fringed with rainbows. Nita began to feel as if she was caught in the moment between a very vivid dream and the awakening from it. There was that feeling of living in a body—of being aware of familiar surroundings and the realities of the daylight world waiting to be resumed—yet at the same time seeing those surroundings differently, colored with another sort of light, another kind of time. On one level Nita heard Kit reciting a string of polysyllables that should have been meaningless to her—words for symbols, pieces of words, babble. Yet she could also hear Kit saying casually, and, it seemed, in English, “We need to know something, and we suggest this particular method of finding the information…” And the words didn’t break the expectancy, the listening silence. For once, for the first time, the dream was
real
while Nita was awake. Power stirred in the air around her and waited for her to shape it.

Magic!

She sat and listened to Kit. With each passing second she could catch more clearly the clean metallic taste of the equation as it began to form itself, flickering chill and bright in her mind. Kit’s speech was giving it life, and with quiet, flowing efficiency it was going about its purpose. It was invoking the attention of what Nita might have called physical laws, except that there was nothing physical about them—they had to do with flows of a kind of power as different from ordinary energy as energy was from matter. The equation stretched and coiled and caught those powers within itself as the words wove it. Nita and Kit were caught in it, too. To Nita it seemed as if, without moving, she held out her hands, and they were taken—by Kit, and by the spell itself, and by the ponderous powers caught across from her in the dance. There was a pause: Kit looked across the diagrams at her.

Nita scowled at the symbols beside her and began to read them, slowly and with some hesitation—naming herself one concept or one symbol at a time, binding herself into the spell. At first she was scared, for she could feel the strangeness folding in close around her. But then she realized that nothing awful was happening, and as her name became part of the spell,
that
was what was sliding down around her, protecting her. She finished, and she was out of breath, and excited, and she had never been happier in her life.

Kit’s voice came in again then, picking up the weave, rejoining the dance. So it went for a while, the strange words and the half-seen, half-felt movements and images falling into a rhythm of light and sound and texture, a song, a poem, a spell. It began to come whole all around them, and all around the tingling air stayed still to better hold the words, and the trees bent close to listen.

Kit came to the set of symbols that stood for his name and who he was, and read them slowly and carefully. Nita felt the spell settle down around him, too. He finished it and glanced up at Nita, and together they began the goal section of the spell. Nita did her best to make a clear image of the pen as she spoke—the silver case, gone a little scratched and grubby now, her initials incised up near the top. She hardly had time to wonder at the harmony their paired voices made before things began to change again. The shadows of the trees around them seemed to grow darker; the aura of expectancy grew sharp enough to taste. The silence became total, and their voices fell into it as into a great depth.

The formula for their goal, though longer than either of their names had been, seemed to take less time to say—and even stranger, it began to sound like much more than just finding a pen and being left alone. It began to taste of starfire and night and motion, huge and controlled, utterly strange. Saying the formula left Kit and Nita breathless and drained, as if something powerful had briefly been living and speaking through them and had worn them down. They finished the formula together, and gulped for air, and looked at each other in half-frightened expectation, wondering what would happen next.

The completed spell took effect. Nita had thought that she would gradually begin to see something, the way things had changed gradually in the grove. The spell, though, had its own ideas. Quick as a gasp it slammed them both out of one moment and into another, a shocking, wrenching transition like dreaming that you’ve fallen out of bed,
wham!
Instinctively they both hung on to the spell as if onto a railing, clutching it until their surroundings steadied down.

The darkness had been replaced by a lowering, sullen-feeling gloom. They looked down as if from a high balcony onto a shadowed island prisoned between chill rivers and studded with sharp spikes of iron and cold stone.
Manhattan?
Kit asked anxiously, without words.

Nita felt frozen in place like a statue and couldn’t turn to answer him—the spell was holding her immobile.
It looks like Manhattan,
she said, feeling just as uneasy.
But what’s my pen doing
there?

Kit would have shaken his head if he could have.
I don’t get it. What’s wrong here? This is New York City—but it never looked this this dirty and ugly and…
He trailed off in confusion and dismay.

Nita looked around her. It was hard to make out anything on the island—there was a murky pall over the city that seemed more than just fog. There was hardly any traffic that she could see, and almost no light—in fact, in all of Manhattan there were only two light sources. In one place on the island—the east Fifties, it looked like—a small point of brittle light seemed to pulse right through steel and stone, throbbing dully like a sown seed of wildfire waiting to explode. The pulses were irregular and distressing, and the light was painful to look at. Some blocks to the south, well into the financial district near the south end of the island, another fire burned, a clear white spark like a sunseed, beating regularly as a heart. It was consoling, but it was very small.

Now what?
Nita said.
Why would my pen be in
this
place?
She looked down at the dark grainy air below them, listened to the brooding silence like that of a beast of prey ready to spring, felt the sullen buildings hunching themselves against the oppressive sky. Then abruptly she felt the
something
malevolent and alive that lay in wait below—a something that
saw
them, was conscious of them, and was darkly pleased.

Kit, what
is
that?

I don’t know, but it knows we’re here, and it shouldn’t be able to!
His thought was singing with alarm like a plucked string.
Nita, the spell’s not balanced for this. If that thing grabs us or holds us somehow, we won’t be able to get back!

Nita felt Kit’s mind start to flick frantically through the memories of what he had read in his wizards’ manual, looking for an idea, for something they could do to protect themselves. It was weird to somehow
see
some of what he was thinking, as if she was looking over his shoulder while he read. Though part of her trembled at the thought of that dark presence that was even now reaching out toward them, lazy and deadly, Nita concentrated on holding still and looking over Kit’s shoulder at his thoughts—

Kit, stop! No, back one
—
That’s it. Look, it says if you’ve got an imbalance, you can open out your side of the spell to attract some more power.

Yeah, but if the wrong kind of power answers, we’re in for it!

We’re in for it
now
if
that
gets us,
Nita said, indicating the huge, hungry darkness billowing upward toward them like a cloud.
Look, we’ll make a hole through the spell big enough for something friendly to fall into, and see what turns up.

Nita could feel Kit’s uncertainty as he started choosing from memory the words and symbols he would need.
All right, but I dunno, if something worse happens…

What could be worse?
Nita hollered at Kit, half in amusement, half in fear. The hungry something drew closer.
Hurry up!

Kit started to answer, then got distracted as he put the equation together in his head.
There,
he said, laying out the change in the spell in his mind for Nita to see,
I think that’ll do it
—

Go ahead,
Nita said, watching anxiously as their pursuer got closer and the air around them seemed to grow thicker and darker yet.
You say it. Just tell me what to do and when.

Right,
Kit said, and began speaking in his mind, much faster than he had during the initial spelling. If that first magic had felt like the weaving of a whole, this one felt like ripping something apart. Their surroundings seemed to shimmer uncertainly, the dark skyline and lead gray sky rippled like a wind-stirred curtain; even that stalking presence seemed to hesitate in momentary confusion.
Okay, push,
Kit said suddenly,
push right there!

Nita felt the torn place that Kit had made in the spell, and she shoved clumsily at it with her mind, trying to enlarge it.
It’s, I think it’s giving…

Now, hard!
Kit said.

Nita pushed at the tear in the spell until pain stabbed and stabbed again behind where her eyes should have been. At the moment she thought she couldn’t possibly push anymore, Kit said one short sharp syllable and threw the spell wide open like a door.

It was like standing at the core of a tornado which, rather than spinning you away to Oz, strips the roof off your home, opens the house walls out flat as the petals of a plaster flower, and leaves you standing confused and disbelieving in the heart of a howling of smoke and damned voices; like moving through a roomful of people, every one of whom tries to catch your eye and tell you the most important thing that ever happened to him. Nita found herself deluged in fragments of sights and sounds and tastes and feelings and thoughts not her own, a madly coexisting maelstrom of imageries from other universes, other earths, other times. Most of them she managed to shut out by squeezing her mind shut like eyes and hanging on to the spell. She sensed that Kit was doing the same and that their stalker was momentarily as bewildered as they were by what was happening. The whirling confusion seemed to be funneling through the hole in the spell like water going down a drain—things, concepts, creatures too large or too small for the hole fell through it, or past it, or around it. But sooner or later something just the right size would catch.
Hope we get something useful,
Nita thought desperately.
Something bigger than that
thing
,
anyway —

And
thump,
something fitted into the hole with snug precision, and the crazy whirling died away, and the two of them had company in the spellweb. Something small, Nita felt; very small,
too
small—but no, it was big, too …

Confused, she reached out toward Kit.
Is that it? Can we get out of here now? Before that what’s-its-name—

That was when the what’s-its-name shook itself with a ripple of rage and hunger that Kit and Nita could feel even at a distance. It headed toward them again, its angry speed saying that it was done playing with them.

Uh oh!
Kit said.
Let’s get out of here!

What do we do—?